


What Cannot Be Said

by alyyks



Category: Firefly, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Firefly is part of the GFFA, Mentioned Dormé (Star Wars), Naboo Culture and Customs (Star Wars), Pre-Star Wars: Attack of the Clones, Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-07 11:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21457480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyyks/pseuds/alyyks
Summary: Senator Padmé Amidala sees a familiar face during a party.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Inara Serra
Comments: 14
Kudos: 37
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2019





	What Cannot Be Said

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).

> Beautifully dangerous women ayyyyyyyyye
> 
> A million thanks to my beta and enabler ;) antonomasia09

Padmé sighed as discreetly as she could, hidden behind her glass of sparkling wine. It was, of course, delicious, notes of flowers and honey on the finish marking it as coming from the personal stores of Senator Tamdod, the very same Senator who was throwing this party and had significant shares in luxury wineries in his home system.

That so rich a beverage was served was a clear indication that the party was anything but the small get-together in celebration of the Niaran New Year it had been advertised as, and was most certainly an unsubtle way for Tamdod to gather potential allies for his next vote as head of the Economic Improvement in the Guu Run committee. Not a thing in the Senate—and on Coruscant—was what it was advertised to be. It was a world of appearances and double meanings she had strived to thrive in since her days as Princess of Theed, and she did thrive in it. She loved the politics, the change, going toe to toe in intellectual matches when they weren’t physical ones. 

The rot under the gold bothered her.

Dormé, two steps behind her and to her left, coughed discreetly to attract her attention. Padmé took her leave from her current conversation as gracefully as she could—Senator Narrim was more interested in the cut of Human women’s dresses, Padmé’s included, and what they revealed than in politics—to turn to her Handmaid. Dormé made a discrete sign to the smaller room that served as entranceway. The Duros Senator, Enssad Viks, was just arriving. Viks was something of an ally, but it wasn’t him who held Padmé’s attention, or who had attracted Dormé’s.

Padmé had only eyes for the Human woman at his arm. Padmé had not seen her in a decade, but Inara Serra still had the magnetic presence she had had when she trained with and taught the Royal Handmaidens on Naboo. The skills of a Companion and those of a Handmaid had surprising overlaps, and Companions weren’t unknown on Naboo, renowned for the refinement of their manners. It hadn’t been out of the ordinary for a Companion-Mother and her trainee to come to Naboo and spend several months there, for many a young person of the noble families had gotten their lessons in dance and music from them. The Royal Handmaidens had merely received more secretive lessons: the art of blending in, of dance and grace used as weapons, of listening and deflecting.

Inara caught her eye for an instant, and her picture perfect smile slipped an instant for recognition and a smile that looked far more real.

Viks and Inara were immediately engaged in conversation with the host, while Padmé was swept into an impromptu meeting with Senators Mon Mothma and Onaconda Farr. It was only an hour later that she and Viks greeted each other.

“Senator Amidala, always a pleasure.”

“The pleasure, as always, is shared, Senator Viks.”

“Before matters turn to work and politics, may I have the great honor of introducing Companion Inara Serra?” Viks bowed imperceptibly over Inara’s hand.

Padmé inclined her head—a gesture from equal to equal, for Companions in the Naboo tradition were on par with nobility. Inara held her eyes, warmth dancing at the corner of her mouth. “It is a delight and an honor to meet you again.”

“Your Highness,” Inara replied, bowing as if Padmé was still Queen of Naboo.

Viks appeared delighted that they knew each other. He tried discreetly to learn how they had come to be acquainted, which Inara deftly pushed toward a discussion about Naboo with no other specifics. Once the small talk was done, Viks was eager to introduce Inara to more people and raise his social standing in the same breath. Companions were unusual on Coruscant, but they were regarded as highly here as on any other world, if not more.

When Viks and Inara had moved, Inara’s hand had brushed Padmé’s, a touch so light it might never have existed—but it made Padmé shiver.

+++

The ride back to her apartments passed in a blur of lights, and Padmé lost in thoughts. She cast her mind back over the evening, the political ramifications of what she had seen and heard, the possibilities that had opened or closed just as fast. Beside her, Dormé was already putting in reminders and meetings in her calendar, passing on gossip and any information she had heard through the night that Padmé hadn’t.

Dormé, Padmé noted, did not mention Inara. She only gave Padmé a side look, and tapped the screen of her datapad just under Inara’s contact information. Perhaps it was that easy to find. Perhaps Dormé had asked for it. Perhaps Inara had given it.

Padmé only allowed herself to really think of Inara later, once her entourage was dismissed for the night and her apartments fell silent. She recalled Inara’s poise, the myriad subtle ways in which she had shown that she was a Companion and her own woman, even on the arm of Viks and wearing his colors. She allowed herself to remember days a decade past, girls learning control and poise and coming of age together; Inara had shone among them, kind, older, more experienced than them.

If Inara was still in-system, well, it would hurt nothing to ask for a meeting, would it? It had been a decade. If Inara agreed to meet, if she even had the time to meet— Padmé was sure her calendar was full. But perhaps… perhaps that brush had been a sign, that Inara wanted to reconnect as much as Padmé found herself wanting to.

+++

Inara stepped out of her aircab right on the steps of the veranda, and Padmé greeted here there with both hands extended as a Naboo would greet a close friend. Inara responded in kind, taking Padmé’s hands in hers and stepping inside the circle of her arms to press a kiss on each of her cheeks.

“I must admit, I was surprised to receive your message,” Inara said, keeping her hands in Padmé’s. Padmé had to look up slightly at her. As teens, they had been of a height. “I am honored you could make time for me.”

“The honor is all mine. Your calendar must be more than full—how long will you be on Coruscant?” Padmé took Inara’s shawl, a long piece of fabric that shimmered with multiple colors in the light, to fold it carefully over one of the couches. Then she offered her arm and Inara’s eyes missed none of the subtleties and cultural meanings of the gesture. Padmé was placing herself as the host, and ever so slightly socially under Inara. Inara replied in kind, but as equals, in the Naboo tradition, hand over Padmé’s.

“Only a few days I’m afraid,” Inara replied. “I’ve taken quarters with an independent crew. It gives me the advantage of traveling, but also the slight inconvenience of having to follow their schedule.”

Padmé led them to the couches further into her apartments, to one of the cozier nooks. Tea had already been set, along with an assortment of spiced fruits and other finger foods.

“It seems to me there haven’t been many Companions on Coruscant, have there?” Inara asked as she sat, tugging Padmé down next to her. Padmé could have walked to the small couch on the opposite side of the coffee table. But she was glad she did not have to.

“Our Chancellor might be from Naboo, but he has been reticent to show support for much of our cultural background. I’m afraid it has somewhat spread, at a certain level.”

Inara hummed in answer.

Padmé let the silence between them fall. It wasn’t an uncomfortable one —no, during the short time they had lived and learned and trained together, they had become quite adept at letting glances and touches and body language do the talking. Here and now, sitting next to each other close enough that each move let them brush against each other, they fell back into that comfortable language.

Tea was served—each serving the other, after a brief battle for who would pour, a subtle play of status and interest. Padmé had not realized how much she had missed all the minute details of Naboo culture and being able to express them with someone who not only understood, but masterfully played them right back at her. She wanted to know if Inara had ever gone back to Naboo, after those months with the Handmaidens and their final goodbye just before Padmé’s Coronation, what else Inara had seen, learned, taught in the wider galaxy—if she still liked seedcakes and having her hair brushed, if she would dance if Padmé asked, if she would dance with her…

Inara’s eyes laughed at her over the rim of her tea cup, a kind laugh that invited Padmé into the joke. “Your eyes,” she explained, as she put the tea cup back on the table. “For the briefest moment, I saw you go through all your questions and desires and be at a loss which one to start with.”

“Will you kiss me, Inara?”

“Will a kiss be all you want, Your Highness?”

“Please, just Padmé. No Highness, no senator, no titles. Just Padmé.”

“Padmé,” Inara breathed against her lips. “Padmé,” to each corner of her mouth. “Padmé,” to her neck where her pulse betrayed the racing of her heart. “Padmé,” to the edge of her collar. “Padmé,” over the fabric between her breasts. Inara looked up, then, eyes sparkling. Padmé’s hands, which had gone to brush all of Inara that they could reach, from soft skin to dark curls and the tantalizingly hidden curves of her body, stilled on Inara’s shoulders.

“We’re missing a field and the sound of waterfalls,” Inara said, and Padmé laughed, feeling herself blush ever so slightly. Such had been the talks of the Handmaidens after dark, girls and teens daydreaming when they had the time: which was the most romantic place they could think of, for the first time with a new lover. Padmé had said the fields at the Great Waterfalls, deep in the country beyond her family’s summer villa. But that Inara remembered…

Padmé rested her hand against Inara’s cheek, marveling again at the fact that she could, that Inara was there, and that Padmé could touch her. “You never answered, when we played those games,” she said.

Inara turned her head, kissed Padmé’s hand, her palm, and it felt like electricity along her arm. “I have seen so many sights, met so many people I would love nothing more than to kiss, and kiss, and kiss as if it was air, in so many different places… but the sights would never compare to Naboo.”

“Flatterer,” Padmé breathed against Inara’s mouth. She did her very best to kiss her as if it was air, for one moment to make this to be all of their universe, to think of nothing else but touch, and caress, and the sounds of fabric against fabric, fabric against skin, skin against skin.

Later, in her bedroom, Padmé half sitting, half laying on her side on pillows and Inara sprawled with no artifice before her, she stopped and looked, and yearned, and slowly started to remind herself of all there was to do, what her place was, what her calling was. Inara’s hair was spread like a halo around her, and she was wearing nothing but an anklet. It shone as Inara moved, turning to her side to rest a hand on Padmé’s knee.

“You are thinking so loudly I can hear you,” Inara said, moving to kiss Padmé’s knee, her leg, stopping and resting her head against Padmé’s thigh when Padmé did not react to the touches. 

Padmé smiled down at her, sighed. “You don’t want to hear about,” she waved a hand in the air, “petty senatorial displays, and lies, and how much rot I choose to know about and not do anything about and—“

“My Padmé, my sweet,” Inara whispered to her as she curled around her, “my queen—“ 

“Will you write to me?” And on Inara’s skin, Padmé tapped in the codes they had learned at the same time of distrust of the official channels, of missing information, of all the trust she had in Inara that she could put in touches, in kisses.

In return, she saw Inara’s eyes darken with desire, with curiosity, with challenge.

Padmé might only have this day, those hours. But she would cherish this sight of Inara, of a woman, a warrior, and the hunt in her eyes.


End file.
